Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Clouds followed them home and Royden went off to see that much needed work was getting done before the rain started once again.
She watched him stride off. She had enjoyed their time together, talking, trying to make sense of what happened, trying to piece the puzzle together. It reminded her of old times with him, not that it was exactly the same, but there had been something familiar they had shared, and to her that was a start. She had realized by his stance and the troubled look in his dark eyes that he hadn’t liked being in Burnell’s bedchamber. His eyes had taken on an angry glare when he looked upon the bed and she hadn’t had to guess what he’d been thinking.
Oria turned and climbed the keep steps. She had thought to tell him, but how did a married woman admit she had remained a virgin?
Chapter 8
Royden couldn’t sleep. His wife constantly haunted his thoughts. Their return ride from Learmonth had given him a glimpse into the past at a time he cherished, a time when their love was strong enough to conquer anything. That time, that love had been what kept him going when things had gotten unbearable. Oria had been his strength, his reason to survive, and return home. So why, now that he was here, Oria his wife, did he find things so different?
He threw the blanket off and swung his legs off the bed, sitting on the edge, his hand and stump pressed into the mattress on either side of him. He shook his head when he looked at the stump. Sometimes, crazy as it was, he thought he still felt he had his hand.
He stood and wrapped his plaid around himself, a simple task that had taken time to learn once he’d been healed enough. He didn’t bother slipping on the leather cuff that covered his stump, no one would be about the keep this late. He rarely slept a full night. His thoughts either leaving him too restless to sleep or nightmares plagued and woke him abruptly. Either way, a good, sound sleep had long eluded him and he had learned to adapt.
He ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall as it may, then slipped on his boots. He’d go to his solar—his solar—was it truly his now? Was his da dead? Would he ever find out what happened to him? And what of Arran? Would he make it home? And what of Raven? He shook his head, his family constantly on his mind.
One thing at a time, he silently warned himself.
Quick steps had him down the stairs in no time and he was about to hurry through the Great Hall to his solar when he spotted her and stopped. He stared for a moment since at first glance he thought her lifeless propped against a section of the stone hearth, the fire’s light bathing her lovely face in a soft glow. Then he recalled Oria telling him that she would sometimes go to the hearth in the Great Hall to sleep when at Learmonth, it having been too cold in her small bedchamber. But her bedchamber here wasn’t cold, so what had brought her to sleep by the hearth?
Leaving her to remain there wasn’t even a thought. He went and crouched down in front of her. He would have wondered how she could sleep like that, sitting up, braced against stone, but he had been forced to sleep in ways and places he never thought possible. They both had learned to cope with what fate had dealt them.
One thing that hadn’t changed was her beauty. She would always be the most beautiful woman in the world to him. Even the scar couldn’t detract from her lovely features.
Stop staring and take her to bed.
His thoughts jolted him inwardly. Put her to bed, not take her to bed, he silently warned himself. He wasn’t ready for that yet, or so he told himself, and she had told him he wasn’t welcome there—yet.
He reached out to wake her with a gentle touch, but pulled his hand back. Not a good idea. Instead, he spoke her name softly, “Oria.”
“Royden,” she said in a raspy whisper before her eyes spread open wide. Seeing him there so close, she threw herself at him, her arms going around his neck.
His arm snagged her waist as he held himself steady so they wouldn’t tumble. She clung tightly to him as if she’d feared letting go and there was something different about the way she felt in his arms. She melted into them, against him, as she had once done. He reacted instinctively, pressing his cheek to hers, keeping her firm against him, never wanting to let her go.
Then something happened. She tensed and eased herself away from him and he had to fight hard to let her go. Her eyes held a look of surprise and he wondered what had happened.